Sing Me a Lullaby
by cloud1701
Summary: Dean returns from Hell but is haunted by the experience.


Dark, so dark. Can't see… So groggy. Have to think, concentrate. Where am I? Can't move, body heavy, skin's tight. Sizzle, hiss, pop – I can hear at least. Crackling… fire? Something else, piercing sound…. Eyes – why can't I open my eyes? THINK! Throat hurts, what's that smell? Roasting meat? Was someone cooking over a fire? Have to move, get help. Sound is getting louder – face, something melting over my face…. my body. Screaming? SCREAMING – I'm the one screaming. I was on fire….

Sam jumped out of bed and shook Dean awake. The look of pure terror on Dean's face was almost more than he could bear. Sweating and gasping for air he looked over at Sam before silently standing and going over to splash water on his face.

"Dean, maybe you should, I don't know, see a therapist or something."

"A therapist? You want me to see a therapist? That's a good one Sammy, I'll walk into the doc's office and tell them I've been having nightmares since I sold my soul to the devil, went to Hell, and came back from the dead. You can come visit me after they lock me up in a rubber room."

"OK – it's a bad idea, but you can't go on like this. " "I'll be fine Sam, let it go. Now I'm going for a walk." Dean tossed the towel down and got dressed. Looking like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, Dean walked out without once meeting Sam's eyes.

Sam watched the door close behind his brother. He knew Dean didn't want to deal with his problem – he didn't even want to admit he had a problem! Every night since Dean's return, Sam had woken to the sound of his brothers' screams. Neither one was getting much sleep. It seemed every time Dean closed his eyes he was back in Hell. He'd watched his brother steadily losing weight. Lines of stress were being carved one by one onto his face. He was constantly on edge. Between the sleep deprivation, the constant caffeine diet, and the nightmares it was a wonder he was functioning at all. Something had to give and Sam was afraid it would be Dean. After getting his brother back, Sam had no intention of losing him again. There had to be a solution.

Taking advantage of Dean's nocturnal prowling, Sam pulled up his research on post traumatic stress syndrome. OK – strike one, NO therapist. Even he had to admit that was a stupid idea. He was desperate to help Dean but what therapist would ever have believed a story like that?

Some doctors were also touting the benefits of support groups. Support groups? He could picture Dean's reaction to that idea all too easily. "Let me get this straight. You want to start a support group for troubled hunters. Someplace warm and fuzzy, where we could all sit around in a circle, cry on each others shoulders and have group hugs?" It looked like support groups would be strike two.

The clicking of the lock warned Sam that Dean was back. He quickly minimized the screen as Dean approached with a coffee in hand. "Have you found us a job yet?" "Dean, I really think you should take it easy for a bit – give yourself time to recover…" Sam stopped when he saw the look on Dean's face.

"All I need is to get back out on the road and start killing things. So have you found us a job or not?" Sam sighed, and started to list a few possibilities.

"There's a report of people seeing a monster in a lake north of here."

"You mean like a creature from the black lagoon? That could be interesting. What else you got?"

"A small town close to an Indian reservation is having a few problems. Apparitions engaged in raids and shoot outs."

"You mean like a real cowboy and Indian movie playing out in the streets every night? Cool. We better get there before some politician decides to make it into a tourist attraction." He pitched his coffee cup and started throwing his things into a duffel bag. Shaking his head, Sam gave Dean the rest of the details while simultaneously packing his own gear. The sky was just starting to lighten as they headed out.

Dean's enthusiasm for the job and good mood evaporated pretty quickly – right around the time Sam said he was driving. There was no way he was letting Dean drive when he still looked that exhausted. Before they had even left the city limits, Dean had fallen into an uneasy sleep. Glancing over, Sam hoped it would be a dreamless one. He wasn't counting on it though.

Dark… can't move… hurts so bad… laughter… more pain…

Sam jerked the wheel hard to right and stopped the car in a cloud of dust. "Dean! Dean, wake up! You're safe – it's only a dream." "Sam? Sammy? Where are we?"

Sam took a deep breath as he saw Dean was becoming more aware of his surroundings. Slowly his brother's body halted its trembling, and Sam swore he could almost hear Dean's heart rate returning to normal. Dean sat up straighter and rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes, "So where are we?"

"About half way to Grantsville."

Dean noticed that they were parked haphazardly alongside the road. "What's going on? Did you do something to my car? Jesus Sam, look at the dust! You are so washing this car." He climbed out, and made a careful circle of his baby. Aside from being filthy there didn't seem to be any damage.

Sam knew he was using the time to compose himself so he settled back against the seat and waited for the coming argument. He didn't have long to wait. With a slight swagger Dean approached the driver's side door and yanked it open. "My turn to drive, get out Sammy."

Sam didn't even bother to open his eyes. "Get back in the car Dean."

"I will as soon as you move your ass."

Slowly Sam turned to look at Dean and quietly stated, "No, you are not driving. I'm not going to let you kill yourself or someone else because you fell asleep at the wheel."

"And I'm telling you I'm fine! Why can't you just drop it?"

"Because you're not all right. You need to get some sleep. Are you really willing to risk killing an innocent stranger or yourself? Or me? All because you're too stubborn to admit how tired you are?" The brothers stared silently at each other.

Dean broke eye contact first and walked to the front of the car, his back to Sammy. Crossing his arms he leaned back against the hood and stood silently. His shoulders shook once and he shivered. Sam was expecting more of an argument, not this, whatever this was. Easing his tall frame out from behind the wheel he pocketed the keys and joined his brother. "Talk to me Dean. Let me help you."

Dean lowered his head, and jabbed his hands into his jacket pockets. Scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt, he struggled for the words.

"Sammy, I can fall asleep fine, I just don't want to…" Sam looked at Dean in amazement. This was the closest Dean had come to admitting something was wrong.

"What about trying some meds?"

"No, no drugs. I'm not going to risk being too doped up to do my job."

"Well what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know, I just don't know."

Sam gently grabbed Dean's shoulder. His brother seemed to the need the comfort physical contact could provide just then. With his other hand he forced Dean to meet to his eyes. "We'll think of something Dean, there's a solution out there and we'll find it. "Trust me. We'll stop the nightmares."

"I do, Sam, you know I do."

Dean still looked shaken. Before he could withdraw further into himself, Sam threw him a lifeline to pull himself out. Keeping a straight face, Sam suggested, "You know Dean, I could sing you a lullaby every night for the next year if you think it would help."

An incredulous look crossed Dean's face. He raised an eyebrow and his mouth opened and closed. Finally he managed to spit out… "Lullabies? Did you just say you wanted to sing me lullabies?"

"Yeah I did. I'll even let even pick the song."

Dean started to respond and stopped himself. He was at a complete loss for words.

Sam was actually starting to enjoy his reaction. One much more familiar had replaced the haunted look on Dean's face. His brother was back.

" I can't believe you just said that. What kind of wuss are you?" He gave a fake shudder, and without further argument Dean climbed back into the passenger seat. "Let's go Sammy. We're burning daylight. Time to get this show back on the road."

As Sam climbed behind the wheel he heard Dean still muttering in disbelief about lullabies.

A couple of hours later Sam and Dean pulled into the Stick 'em Up Motel and checked in for a few nights. The room was god-awful, it took tacky American Indians theme to a whole new sub level. Buffalo lamps and skulls, patterned rugs in eye clashing color, arrows on the clock, bows used as door handles – and that was just the good points. All that was missing was a canopy "tent" over the beds.

Dean took one look and said they could have at least provided a buffalo steak since every other scrap of it was used in the decorating. With that statement he went out to grab them some dinner while Sam stretched out on his bed.

Sam looked around the room and shuddered. It really was awful, then he did a double-take, his jaw dropping as an idea came to mind. Hurriedly scribbling a note to Dean he went back out to talk to the desk clerk.

Entering the lobby, Sam saw the clerk restocking some pamphlets. Trying to look friendly and harmless Sam walked over to him. "Hi there, could you tell me if there's a shaman near by?"

The desk clerk gave Sam a puzzled look but pointed him in the direction he needed to go. "He won't help you. You'll be lucky if he doesn't shoot you on site. He doesn't like young people." With that dire prediction, the clerk returned to stocking the rack.

Sam wasn't thrilled about the idea of taking a mile long hike through the dusty heat, especially after the clerks warning, but he wasn't ready to give up on his idea quite yet. Since Dean had the car it was either walk or wait for his return. If he waited Dean would demand to know where he was going and why. Sam wasn't in the mood to listen to all the reasons his latest plan wouldn't work. Dean had never given his trust easily and since his return his natural paranoia had climbed to impressive new heights. He wouldn't like Sam going to a stranger and spilling his guts. Maybe someday Dean would come to realize that admitting there was a problem and asking for help wasn't a weakness, but that day hadn't arrived yet. Unwilling to risk fracturing their fragile relationship even further, Sam started walking down the road.

The day was usually quiet. The only signs of life were some stunted brown trees and a few crows circling lethargically overhead. Glancing up at the birds Sam couldn't shake the feeling they were watching him. Either Dean's extreme paranoia was rubbing off on him or his own lack of sleep was started to take its toll. Quickening his pace slightly, he continued down the road – still keeping a wary eye on the crows.

Before long the small home he was looking for came into view. It looked just like the desk clerk described. White clapboard siding had weathered to gray; faded red shutters framed the small windows. A slight breeze made the two rockers on the miniscule porch move back and forth. The place was old and tired looking and had an air of desolation around it.

Sam walked up to the front door and knocked. Hearing a noise behind him Sam spun around to find one of the crows perched on the porch railing regarding him with a beady-eyed stare. Since his attention was on the crow, he didn't notice immediately that someone had answered his knock. "Are you lost or just decided it was a good day to trespass?" Turning back to the door Sam, saw a wizened old man standing in the doorway looking none to pleased to have a guest. "Hi, I'm Sam, the desk clerk at the Stick 'Em Up motel said that you're the local shaman. I'm hoping you can help me with a problem I have."

The old man gave a bark of laughter, startling the crow into flight. "A shaman? Young people don't believe in the old ways any more let alone come to me for help. I tired of being made the butt of jokes. Go back to your to wherever you came from leave me alone." The old man moved to shut the door.

"Wait! Please – I'm not here to ridicule you or your beliefs. I really do need your help. Please, would you just hear me out?"

With a sigh he opened the door and took a seat on the porch. After motioning Sam to take to take the other he sat back and waited. "My brother, he's having nightmares – real-wake-up-screaming kind of nightmares. I'm afraid if it continues much longer I'll lose him to the dreams and never get him back."

"Lose him again? How did you misplace a brother to begin with?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair trying to decide exactly how much he was willing to share. With a sigh, he began. "We got separated for awhile. He was in trouble and I couldn't get to him. Now, somehow he's made it back but its like part of him is missing. Every time he has a nightmare more and more of him seems to vanish."

"That's your problem. The one that needs a shaman's help? Give him a bottle of tequila and send him to bed." He stood abruptly and went to enter the house. Quicker than thought Sam blocked his path.

"Tequila? Get him in a drunken stupor so he doesn't dream? What the hell kind of advice is that?"

"The kind of advice your problem rates – if he doesn't like tequila try whiskey! All the help your brother needs can be found at the bottom of a bottle. Now go away and stop wasting my time. I have chores that need tending."

With effort Sam swallowed his anger and frustration. "I can lend a hand with those chores. We can both help each other." The shaman regarded him a long moment and then gestured for Sam to follow him. "You see that chicken coop – it needs cleaning. With that statement he walked away from Sam and never looked back.

Great, just fucking great – just what he wanted to do on a hot day. Leave it to him to go searching for a wise old shaman and instead find Ebenezer Scrooge – before the ghosts visited him. Grumbling to himself, he looked around the area. Spotting a pitchfork standing upright in a pile of straw, he walked over and grabbed it. How were you supposed to clean a chicken coop anyway? After a moment of thought Sam decided to remove the old straw and replace it with fresh. It was a good idea in theory, however he didn't take into account how territorial the hens were. Before long he was scratched and bloody. It seemed to him they were happy with their home before he started renovations. What was with the birds in this place anyway? Keeping a wary eye on the chickens he continued removing straw. An hour later, the chickens had new straw and clean water. He had even found a few eggs. Scooping up the small pile he walked back to the house and knocked.

The door flew open so suddenly Sam almost dropped the eggs he was carrying. The old man's face was a mass of confusion and disbelief. Recovering quickly and looked Sam up and down. Noting Sam's hot and sweaty appearance a slight smile crossed his face.

"I thought you would have left long ago."

"Well it did cross my mind a few times but I don't like leaving a job unfinished." He handed the old man the eggs. "I found these. Think maybe I could get a drink of water and talk to you a bit more?"

Grumbling a bit, the shaman moved aside to let Sam in. Walking to the kitchen he pulled a glass off the drying rack and filled it with water. After handing Sam the glass, he sat down at the table. "So what kind of trouble did your brother get into that was so bad it's giving him nightmares?" Sam rinsed the glass and returned it to the drying rack before joining the crotchety old man at the table.

Realizing this might be his last chance; Sam decided it was time to risk everything by telling the complete truth. "I was dead; Stabbed in the back. Dean sold his soul to a demon to bring me back and then got sent to Hell. I… we thought that we could find a way out. We had a year – but I couldn't save him. I had to stand by and watch him get ripped to shreds and then bury him. Knowing where he was and what he was probably going through, and not being able to reach him… to save him." Sam's voice broke slightly and he paused to compose himself. "Somehow Dean made it back, but every time he closes his eyes he's back there. I need to find a way to bring him all the way out and keep him out." "Sounds to me like he brought this on himself – let him find the solution."

Sam erupted in fury. "He's my brother! He went to Hell to save me! Somehow he crawled up out of the pit and came back to me - I'll be damned if I can't help him this time. I failed him once – I won't fail him again. Now can you do anything to help me or not?"

Looking like he was carved of stone, the old man didn't move. Slowly a glint appeared in his eyes. "It's been so long since anyone really needed my help. Today's young refuse to see what lives in the shadows, so they don't fear them as they should. You though, you see the shadows and strive to banish them.

"Does that mean you'll help me?" Sam asked.

The shaman nodded. "You must complete the task yourself but I can guide you down the path if you're willing to travel it." Releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding Sam asked what he needed to do.

Several hours later, Sam walked back to into the motel room. Before he had even crossed the threshold, Dean jumped up and flung down the magazine he had been holding at Sam. "Where have you been? I was getting ready to come out looking for you." Dean paused as he noticed the blood on Sam. "Sammy, you all right? What happened to you?"

"I'm fine Dean; I was just doing some research."

"Uh huh, research. And exactly what kind of research involves you coming back covered in blood and … what is that?" Reaching over he plucked a feather off Sam's shirt. "Feathers? You know Sam; you might want to consider playing cowboy next time. The feathers really don't look good on you."

"I'm not covered in blood. It's just a few scratches." Before Dean's comments, Sam hadn't realized how bedraggled he looked. "Maybe I should clean up some."

"You do that – you look and smell like shit. Then you can explain the research you were doing." Dean grabbed the remote as Sam headed for the shower. Listening to his brothers' dire threats of what he planned to do to the TV if all he found were Westerns made Sam smile. It was so good to have him back where he belonged. Shutting the door, Sam started the shower and began undressing.

"Hey Sammy, why am I suddenly hungry for chicken? Hurry up so we can go track down some dinner."

"I'll hurry but we're not getting chicken! Steak, fish, burgers… anything but chicken." The water drowned out Dean's reply.

When Sam left the bathroom he discovered Dean had found the pay-per-view-channels but he wasn't enjoying it. He was sprawled on the bed, with the remote clutched in his hand – asleep.

Sam quickly crossed the room and removed the packet he had left in his shirt pocket. Slowly he unwrapped it and gently removed the dream catcher he had spent all afternoon learning to make. Touching it almost reverently, he glanced over at Dean and said a quick prayer before walking to Dean's side. Carefully, so as not to wake his brother Sam hung the dream catcher above Dean's head and waited. Would it be enough to protect his brother? The shaman had told him it wouldn't stop the nightmares but it could transform them. What it transformed them into was dependent upon how well the maker knew the person it would be protecting; also it would only be as strong as the love that went into its making.

Hot… too hot… can't breathe. Suffocating… no air. What was that? Something brushed gently across his face… a breeze? Yes it was a breeze. Greedily he gulped in the cooler air. Several depth breaths later he became aware of the wonderful aroma of food and suntan lotion. He heard water lapping against the beach, soft feminine laughter. Slowly afraid of what he was going to see he opened his eyes. Shading him from the sun was a gorgeous brunette. When she saw his eyes open she reached over and offered him the cool beer she had been drinking. "About time you woke up." Dean shut his eyes. He was seeing things. Seconds later he opened them again. He might as well enjoy the view and company while it lasted. With a lazy grin Dean reached up to grab the bottle and took a long swig. The beads of water on her breasts were even more enticing than the beer. He was thinking that she'd taste even better too. Languidly she reached over and grabbed the suntan lotion. "Hold still, let me rub this on. We wouldn't want anything important to burn now, would we?" She started smoothing the lotion onto his chest, working lower and lower with each circle. Groaning in pleasure Dean glanced up to see a long legged blonde approaching with a platter of food. "So sleeping beauty decided to rejoin us after all. Eat up big boy, you're going to need all your strength tonight." She handed him the plate and reached over for the lotion. Together the women started a massage that had him groaning in pleasure. Sun, sand, beautiful women attending to his every need… This was the life…

Sam watched as Dean rolled over and settled deeper into the pillows, a slight smile on his face. It seemed the dream catcher was working. Sam shut off the light and climbed into his own bed. "Sweet dreams, big brother."


End file.
